Mother's Day
by Christine Morgan
Summary: Anastasia Renard and Dominique Destine discuss the trials of raising daughters. #22 in an ongoing saga.


Mother's Day   
by Christine Morgan   
http://www.sabledrake.com   
christine@sabledrake.com 

* * *

  
Author's Note: the characters of Gargoyles are the property of Disney and   
are used here without their creators' knowledge or consent. All others   
property of the author; please don't borrow without permission.   
  
#22 in an ongoing Gargoyles fanfic saga 

* * *

  
Fox Xanatos knew even before she opened her eyes that she  
was alone in bed.  
She opened her eyes anyway, because what else would she do  
upon awakening? And yes, just as she'd thought, the pillow next to hers  
was unoccupied, and the covers on David's side lay flat upon the  
mattress.  
A yawn and a stretch later, she was ready to sit up. She  
glanced at the clock and saw that it wasn't even seven yet, then looked  
back at David's empty half of the bed and laughed softly.  
"Even God took Sunday off," she'd chided him once, teasingly,  
in the early days of their marriage.  
"Yes," he'd replied with a grin, "but He was already immortal,  
and I've got a long way to go!"  
Time and fatherhood had calmed his overworking Type-A  
habits a bit, but evidently not entirely, as proved by his absence. So  
much for a leisurely morning in bed, the thick Sunday edition of the  
paper strewn out between them, Owen delivering trays of sinfully  
decadent Eggs Benedict or Belgian waffles piled high with strawberries  
and whipped cream.  
Her stomach rumbled enthusiastically at the thought, but as she  
crossed to the closet she caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length  
mirrors and paused, then moved in for a closer examination.  
Inventory time, starting at the top.  
Hair of fire-gold, mussed from sleep. Seablue eyes, still a little  
groggy, one of them surrounded by her trademark foxhead. Skin creamy  
and unlined. High cheekbones, a chin just on the stubborn side of firm.  
Graceful neck, good shoulders, supple toned arms. A pair of knockers  
that would make a bishop weep (when she'd still been nursing  
Alexander, they would've roused a stone statue!). A waist that was ...  
Uh-oh.  
How did the old Special K commercial go? Something about  
pinching an inch? She gave it a try. No, not an inch, but she could still  
seize a dismaying amount of flab between her knuckles.  
Fox exhaled a disgusted snort. She poked her middle, feeling  
the solid muscle beneath. By anyone's standards, she was still drop-dead  
sexy, but by her own standards, held over from her days in the Pack  
when she could take a gut punch without flinching, she felt like a  
walrus.  
Dreading the completion of her inventory, she let her gaze  
keep on going down.  
Hips that had widened a bit since Alex's birth, that was  
unavoidable and David sure as hell didn't have any complaints. But  
there was a puffy pooch below her navel that simply had to go, and  
heaven help her, a hint of what could easily become full-blown love  
handles.  
Her legs were still as flawless as ever, so she only gave them a  
cursory glance before turning and craning her neck to check her tush.  
Now, she'd never been able to crack walnuts between her rear  
cheeks the way Wolf had (or at least, the way Wolf had boasted;  
thankfully he'd never actually demonstrated that particular skill in her  
presence!), but she remembered them being a lot firmer, and she  
certainly did not remember having a little dimple on the left side.  
Okay, so she was no longer a teen, but did that mean she had  
to go gracefully into the twilight zone of pre-middle-age? Not according  
to thousands of magazines and Oil of Olay commercials!  
Banishing all thoughts of hollendaise sauce and whipped  
cream, she quickly pulled on a pair of Spandex jogging shorts and a  
sports bra. She twisted her hair into a ponytail, snugged a sweatband  
around her brow, put on her athletic shoes (obscenely expensive even  
on her clothes budget), and headed out.  
One glance out the window, at the beautiful spring morn, made  
her abruptly change course. There would be time enough to use the gym  
during the winter's chill or the summer's blistering heat. Today she just  
couldn't face a treadmill or stairmaster, not when she had a whole castle  
to exercise in.  
She set herself a rigorous course that would take her along all  
of the battlements and up and down plenty of flights of stairs. As soon  
as she set out, feeling the crisp wind on her face, she knew she'd made  
the right decision.  
Twice around the castle, passing the gargoyles in their frozen  
fearsome postures. That reminded her of her earlier thoughts about  
getting a rise out of a statue. She wondered which of them would watch  
her go by if they could, checking out the bounce of her tits and the long  
flex of her thighs.  
Goliath? Too serious. Too polite. Wouldn't do to ogle the  
landlord's wife. If she was Elisa, yeah, he'd look until his eyes popped  
out and dangled like big yoyos at the end of his optic cables.  
Hudson? Only if he thought he could sneak a peek without  
getting caught. He didn't like the younger ones to think he had a spark  
of life left in that old husk, but Fox thought she knew better.  
Bronx wouldn't care. Broadway would blush. Brooklyn, rogue  
that he was, would probably whistle just because he knew it was  
expected.  
Lex? Hard to tell with Lex. He seemed like a typical  
technogeek, but more than once Fox had caught him and Aiden in some  
fairly compromising positions.  
The gargoyles were behind her and she had to make a  
decision. Down a flight, or around again?  
She glimpsed the welcome green of the courtyard garden  
below and decided to go down there. Calisthenics in the shade, and then  
maybe a swift dip in the fountain pool.  
Maybe even a skinny dip, she thought with a grin. It would  
mean getting a lecture from her husband on distracting the security staff  
with her exhibitionist tendencies, but since she could already quote the  
speech right back at him, maybe he'd see it was a waste of time.  
She descended into the fragrant paradise of the garden and was  
looking for a likely spot when something unusual caught her eye.  
It was a medium-sized shrub, but it was completely covered in  
pale yellow blossoms with delicate green traceries. She had never seen  
flowers like that before. Especially flowers that seemed to be undulating  
softly, stirring in a breeze that wasn't there.  
Fox took a step closer, and that was when all of the blossoms  
swirled outward, spinning around her like the flakes of a snowglobe, a  
petalstorm of pale yellow and green.  
No, not a petalstorm. A wingstorm.  
Butterflies. Dozens of butterflies in a fluttering cloud around  
her, wings against her skin in velvety angel kisses.  
And then she was free of it as the swarm moved to a nearby  
wall and landed in uniform lines, rows of butterflies with their wings  
folded together.  
As she stared, unsure of what to make of this strangeness  
(she'd heard about packs of monarch butterflies flocking somewhere in  
California, Monterey or Santa Cruz, but nothing like this), the  
butterflies unfolded their wings one by one with the precision of a drill  
team.  
The green markings on the soft wings formed letters, and the  
letters spelled out a message:  
HAPPY MOTHERS DAY MOMMY I LOVE YOU LOVE  
ALEX  
Fox gasped in wonder and delight.  
A high peal of childish laughter sounded behind her, and she  
turned to see the three main men in her life. The two smallest, who were  
paradoxically also the oldest and the youngest, were floating side by  
side in midair.  
Alex (growing to look more like his father every day -- if not  
for the finespun amber of his hair, he could have been a clone) was  
laughing and clapping his hands, well pleased with himself. Puck patted  
him on the head and tipped Fox an impish wink.  
David was standing a bit behind and to the side, beaming  
proudly. She smiled at him, feeling as she so often did these days the  
bittersweet tang of mingled pride and jealousy she felt whenever she  
watched him and Alex together. Jealousy because Alex had been able to  
do what her love hadn't, mellowing David's almost frantic drive for  
power and immortality. Pride because she, after all, was Alex's mother.  
"Well done, kiddo!" Puck said brightly.  
"Do you like it, Mommy?" her son piped.  
"It's wonderful," she said, plucking him out of the air and  
nuzzling kisses on his face in the way that made him twist and squeal.  
"Thank you so much!"  
David slipped an easy arm around her waist. "And we have  
reservations for nine-thirty in the Carnegie Room. Mother's Day  
Brunch."  
"I hate to interrupt," Puck said suddenly, and his elfin face had  
grown somber. "I think we're about to have company."  
"Who?" David asked alertly. "Trouble?"  
"You could call it that," Puck said. "Titania."  
David caught a curse on his lips, casting a quick glance to  
Alex, who had picked up some astonishingly vulgar language and liked  
nothing better than repeating it at inopportune moments. "The wards  
won't work?"  
Puck shrugged. "Alex has power and Aiden has talent. Those  
wards will keep out just about any lesser power. But the two of them  
together can't stack up against Queen Titania. Give them a hundred  
years and maybe. Plus, at one point she was invited in. Welcomed. Bit  
like Count Dracula, truth be told, but don't tell her I said that!"  
A star shimmered in the morning sky, dropping rapidly toward  
the castle.  
"Is that Gramma?" Alex asked worriedly, pressing himself  
close against his mother. "Is she gonna take me away?"  
"No." Fox held him firmly. "I won't let her."  
David seconded that as he stepped to a decorative stone  
pedestal, slid aside a potted plant, and withdrew a pistol from the  
concealed space beneath. "Puck, take Alex inside."  
"You go too," Fox said, taking the pistol deftly from his hand.  
"I'll handle this."  
He opened his mouth to argue, saw the look in her eye, and  
wisely closed it again.  
The star expanded, a green and gold sphere hanging above the  
grass. As the males retreated, Fox moved forward to meet it.  
It bloomed outward into the shape of a woman and then there  
was Titania. "Hello, child," she said with what sounded like genuine  
warmth.  
Fox didn't buy it. "What do you want?" She held the pistol in a  
way that advertised she was ready to use it, willing to use it, and really  
really _wanted_ to use it, but wasn't going to just yet.  
The queen of Avalon made a cute little pout. "Why, Fox, aren't  
you pleased to see me?"  
"Not particularly." She glanced back, and was relieved to see  
that the guys had gone inside, where a sturdy iron-cored door was  
between them and Titania.  
"I only thought to do you a favor, it being Mother's Day and  
all. You always used to be so conscientious, even when you'd run away  
-- oh, that used to make Renard crazy! But these past couple of years,  
not so much as a card! I was prepared to be hurt, but then I realized that  
with my being on Avalon, you'd have precious little means to call or  
write. The postal service there isn't the best."  
"You're not my mother," Fox said flatly.  
Titania laughed kindly. "This is who I am, child. It is who I've  
always been. I thought you understood that."  
"I understood that you tried to take my son!"  
"I explained that." She sighed dramatically. "How else would I  
have won Puck's right to stay here, and shown you your own magical  
powers?"  
"And I'm supposed to thank you? I don't know which is worse.  
That you tried to take my baby, or that you put me through that whole  
thing as some game, some plot. You never cared about me and how I  
felt."  
"I wanted what was best for you."  
"And the fear? The sickening terror and helplessness of having  
my son torn from my arms? If that's what you think was best, then  
you've got a lot to learn. There had to have been better ways to do it.  
But you had to get Oberon all riled up. You didn't care about me or  
anyone. Do you know what happened in the city? The midsummer  
night's dream he spoke of hurt _thousands_ of people."  
"What are you talking about?" Titania frowned.  
"When everyone got put to sleep. Crashing their cars. Falling  
down flights of stairs. In operating rooms or house fires. People _died_,  
Titania!" She got ahold of herself with a deep shuddering breath. "But  
they were only humans, so I suppose that doesn't mean anything to  
you."  
"Fox --" Titania began.  
"Shut up!" She almost lifted the gun menacingly but forced  
herself to lower it. "Now you come around here expecting a hug and a  
present, as if nothing ever happened? I don't think so. You're not  
welcome here."  
"Fox, you don't mean that." Titania seemed genuinely shaken.  
"Follow me. I've got something to show you."  
Without waiting to see if the other woman would indeed  
follow, Fox turned and walked to a corner nook of the courtyard. Two  
willows flanked a stone arch, their trailing leafy tendrils forming a  
curtain across the doorway.  
"Where are you going?"  
"In there," Fox said. "After you." She used the muzzle of the  
pistol to lift aside the willow curtain, enough to reveal what was in the  
tiny shadowed alcove beyond.  
"A headstone?" Titania leaned closer and read the name  
chiseled into the marble. "Anastasia Renard? The date -- that's  
Alexander's birthday!"  
"As far as I'm concerned," Fox said, "my mother died on that  
day. The day, the hour, the very minute she turned out to be you.  
Anyone who would care so little about me and my happiness to do what  
you did is no mother of mine, and no grandmother to my son."  
"Fox, no," Titania said weakly. "Oh, child, I never meant --"  
"No more of your stories," Fox snapped. "Now get the hell out  
of my house before we need another tombstone!"  
Titania drew back. She had gone a paler blue, and her large  
liquid eyes swam with unshed tears. She reached out but couldn't quite  
touch Fox, as if the younger woman was emitting a force field formed  
of hostile emotion.  
As for Fox, she stood her ground and never wavered. At last,  
Titania backed wordlessly away and vanished in a ripple of gold light.  
Only then, when she felt that Titania was truly gone, did Fox turn and  
kneel and rest her brow on the cool marble arch bearing her mother's  
name.  
"Sorry, Mom," she murmured. She plucked a lily from a  
nearby stalk and laid it on the grass at the foot of the stone. "Happy  
Mother's Day."  
* *  
The Carnegie Room was booked solid, but after a sizeable tip  
and an Avalonian version of the old Jedi mind trick, Titania was  
escorted to a small half-circle of a table on the upper level.  
She attracted little notice, since she now wore the guise of  
Anastasia Renard in a simple but smart beige linen suit instead of her  
more elaborate bare-midriff ensemble.  
This section of the room, more dimly lit with secluded cozy  
tables, was perfect for lovers but a bit awkward for larger parties. It  
overlooked the open, flower- and fountain-filled spacious area below,  
where many of the wealthiest of New York's families were gathered.  
She had a good view of the table where her daughter, son-in-  
law, and grandson were seated. Alexander, her precious prince, was  
wearing a miniature duplicate of his father's Armani suit, while Fox was  
stunning in a bold blue velvet gown. The three of them seemed to be  
enjoying themselves immensely.  
Anastasia accepted the menu from the solicitous waiter, gave it  
a cursory glance, and turned her attention to the other patrons in her  
vicinity. A dismayingly large number were women sitting alone. She  
didn't have to read their auras to know that they were the childless, the  
widowed, the divorced, the lonely. By coming here, they thought to in  
some small way make themselves a part of the joyful celebratory  
atmosphere that permeated the rest of the room.  
The waiters surely knew what she did, for they were more  
attentive than usual, the almost overbearing amiability of cruise ship  
staff. Gifts of carnations were offered, although technically these were  
supposed to be gifts for mothers only.  
Overall, it was a pathetic display. But, pathetic as it was, that  
didn't stop her own throat from tightening when her waiter bowed and  
produced with a flourish a single white carnation.  
Perhaps coming here had been a mistake. She murmured her  
thanks to the waiter and picked up her glass of ice water just to have  
something to do with her hands.  
As she raised it to drink, she happened to look through her  
ring. She very nearly slopped water all over her skirt but recovered in  
time and sipped slowly, trying to make her scrutiny casual.  
The ring on the first finger of her right hand was a wide ornate  
and antiqued band of silver, topped with a spherical diamond of  
surpassing clarity and value.  
The woman who had caught her eye was, like Anastasia  
herself, alone at one of the small tables. A bouquet, lilies and daisies in  
a crystal vase, was before her on the table. She toyed with it listlessly  
from time to time as she sat. To outward appearances, she was in her  
early thirties, red-haired and beautiful (if morose).  
To the inner eye, seen through the magic gem on Anastasia's  
ring, the lady was a gargoyle.  
She rose and approached. The woman looked up and scowled  
faintly. "Can I help you?"  
"I was wondering if I might join you," Anastasia said  
smoothly. "I think we have something in common."  
"Oh?" She sounded less than interested. "And what might that  
be?"  
Anastasia offered her hand as if to shake, making sure that the  
gem moved into the redhead's line of sight. The jewel worked both  
ways, revealing her true self even as it gave her a closer look at the  
woman's inner gargoyle.  
"Demona, isn't it?"  
She showed neither shock nor alarm, only a weary sort of  
acceptance. "Dominique, during the day. Thanks to your servant's  
meddling."  
"You summoned him. You must have known the risks. And  
you were very careless with my mirror. Fortunately for you, no harm  
came to it. I see that you recognize me."  
"Of course, Titania."  
She demurred. "Please, call me Anastasia."  
Dominique raised an eyebrow. "As in Anastasia Renard, co-  
founder of Cyberbiotics?" Her eyes widened in realization, then  
narrowed. "As in, Xanatos' mother-in-law."  
"You do keep up on the gossip." The waiter drew near, and  
Anastasia looked at Dominique's glass. A faint slur in the redhead's  
voice hadn't gone undetected. "What are you drinking?"  
"Champagne and orange juice. Mostly champagne." She  
drained the last of it and gestured for another without bothering to look  
at the waiter. "It is my intention to get ... what do they call it? ...  
shitfaced."  
The waiter blanched. Such was not a term heard in the tasteful  
Carnegie Room, especially not at the Mother's Day Brunch of all days!  
"Make it two," Anastasia said, and he looked thankful for an  
opportunity to flee.  
"Should've made it a dozen."  
"My dear," Anastasia laughed, "if you intend to get that drunk  
on that drink, I hope you're prepared to spend the rest of the day in the  
ladies' room. Not to mention the cost."  
"And what would _you_ recommend?"  
"Ah, on Avalon we have such elixirs ..." she sighed longingly.  
"But, since we're here, you'd doubtless find hard liquor more efficient,  
timewise and money wise. Although, at least with this, you're getting  
plenty of Vitamin C."  
The waiter returned, bringing with him a basket of warm  
muffins and a dish of butter that had been shaped into rosebuds. He  
took their orders and hastily retreated once again.  
"I do believe you've scandalized that poor youth," Anastasia  
observed as she neatly sliced open a blueberry muffin and deposited  
butter inside to melt.  
"That's nothing," Dominique replied. "When he brings the  
check, I plan to pat him on his pert tight little buns."  
"Goodness, you have changed in your attitude toward  
humans."  
A snarl curled her lip. "That's not to say I still wouldn't love to  
see them all wiped off the skin of the earth! I've just come to accept that  
some of them have other, entertaining uses."  
Anastasia blinked politely. "Oh?" she inquired, wondering  
how much of a confession she could lead out of Dominique.  
Not much, apparently. Dominique looked at the bouquet again  
and sighed. "How long has it been, anyway?"  
A quick calculation later, she replied, "Longer than I'd  
thought. Since Will died, isn't it? Tell me, did you ever dance on his  
grave as you threatened to do?"  
"There was no love lost between us." Dominique attacked a  
lemon muffin with a savagery that would have made their waiter, had he  
been present, take a step back.  
"I was always rather partial to him," Anastasia said, smiling in  
fond remembrance. "Oh, but Oberon was furious! I told Puck he  
shouldn't have gone around mouthing off about my lord's and my little  
squabbles. And you, well, you've no one to blame but yourself, for  
trying to make dear MacBeth look bad."  
"Where is Puck these days?" Dominique asked with sudden  
cunning, as if she hadn't heard or (more likely) was ignoring the dig  
about MacBeth. "I've been meaning to thank him for his parting gift,  
and I've always had the feeling he was nearby."  
"He's around," Anastasia said lightly. "But as a word of  
friendly advice, I'd think twice before trying to get revenge on Puck. He  
might seem like a harmless prankster, but he can be devilsome if  
crossed. So, let us talk about something else. What brings you here  
today? It hardly seems your scene, you know. Here in the midst of  
happy and loving human families."  
She sighed again. "My daughter."  
"Hmm? Oh, yes! Why, of course, I should have realized! The  
sweet child Goliath brought back from Avalon." Her mirth faded a bit.  
"Oh. I see. These broken marriages, or matings as the case may be, are  
so often difficult on the children."  
"She doesn't understand me," Dominique said, sitting back  
briefly as the waiter returned.  
"French Toast Monte Cristo," he announced. "Thinly sliced  
ham and Swiss cheese between two pieces of our own fresh cinnamon-  
raisin bread, dipped in egg batter and Grand Marinier and cooked to a  
nice golden brown."  
"I read the menu!" she snapped. "You don't need to quote it at  
me!"  
He backed off hastily and turned to Anastasia, who gave him  
an encouraging smile. "And for you, madam, the spinach omelette."  
As soon as he was gone, evidently having realized that in this  
case over-attentiveness was more apt to earn him a glass of ice water  
down the front of his pants than a nice tip, Dominique went on.  
"All I want is what's best for her, but she doesn't understand.  
She doesn't know the humans as I do. She was sheltered on Avalon, and  
now she's been blinded by Goliath's stubborn optimism. She won't even  
listen to me."  
"I know just how you feel. It's the same way with Fox. When I  
try and do what's best for her, she accuses me of not respecting her  
decisions, or caring about her feelings."  
"Angela wants me to rejoin the clan. Forgive Goliath, when if  
not for him none of this would have happened. She thinks gargoyles and  
humans _can_ live together, no matter how often it's proved to the  
contrary! And Goliath is no help at all. He just encourages her to think  
that way, and it's going to get her killed."  
"Fox won't even speak to me," Anastasia confessed. "She had  
a headstone made with my name on it. Rather gruesomely symbolic,  
don't you agree?"  
"At least Angela sent me these. But look at the card. 'Dear  
Mother, how I wish you could be with us to share this special time, that  
we could be a real family and a real clan again.' Even with her gift, she  
drives the knife deeper!"  
"I only wanted to show her how much more there was to life  
than being human! She had such potential, but even as a girl she  
resisted my every attempt to turn her mind toward more ... intuitive  
thoughts. Always fixated on her looks, her figure, athletics. So  
distressingly mortal."  
"I can't give Angela what she wants. Even if I wanted it too,  
there's no way it would work. I could never bow to following Goliath as  
the leader, not when I've spent centuries as a leader myself. The others  
would never accept me back. They'd always be waiting for a trick, a  
trap, a betrayal."  
"Fox doesn't understand how precious she is to me."  
"Angela too. She's my daughter, my only --" Dominique broke  
off. Her mouth widened into a perfect O. A piece of bread fell from her  
fork with a syrupy plop.  
"Dominique?"  
"By the Dragon," she breathed. "How could I forget?"  
"What is the matter?"  
Her emerald eyes came into focus again, fixing on Anastasia.  
"I laid _two_ eggs that mating season!"  
Anastasia picked up on it at once. "Avalon!"  
"I must go there!" She grasped the other woman's wrist  
urgently. "Take me to Avalon!"  
* *  
The breeding season was nearing its peak, and the cries of  
mating gargoyles reached even to the lonely tower that had once been  
lair of the Magus. Dark silhouettes wheeled and frolicked against a  
backdrop of ever-shifting stars. In the east, light glimmered, but it was  
not the dawn, only the golden-rose-silver glow of Oberon's palace.  
"What a terrible thing to ask!" Elektra gasped. "Never!"  
"Oh, come on, sister," Jericho wheedled. "What's the point of  
knowing magic if you never use it? Why, if I had half your skill, I  
wouldn't spend all my time sitting on my tail in a musty old library! I'd  
be putting it to good use! Benefitting my clan!"  
She frowned sternly at him, and for an instant looked eerily  
enough like a scolding Katherine to make him shiver. In the candlelight,  
with her wings folded and her pale brown hair brushed smoothly over  
her shoulders, she almost didn't seem a gargoyle at all.  
"How would enspelling Gabriel's mates benefit the clan?" she  
inquired.  
He ran his talons through his shock of scarlet hair and sighed  
in frustration. "Angela is supposed to be Gabriel's mate."  
"Your concern on her behalf is touching," Elektra remarked,  
"but I think it is rather your own benefit that you put first."  
"Well, does he really need three mates?" Jericho asked  
bitterly. "He knows that there are already some of us, his brothers,  
destined to go mateless. With Angela gone, Elswyth in love with one of  
Oberon's get, Hippolyta too caught up in being a warrior to even think  
about mating, and you locked away here, that only leaves twelve  
females to eighteen males! And if three of those twelve decide to play  
harem girls to Gabriel, what are the rest of us supposed to do?"  
"I'm not locked away," she said quietly.  
"It's just not fair," he continued, ignoring her. "Gabriel should  
know that. But he's always had to be first and best at everything."  
"They care for him, and he for them. He could not command  
them to cast their sights elsewhere. Choosing a mate is not as simple as  
the way the Magus used to seat us male and female at the feasting table,  
as they did in Castle Wyvern in days of old."  
Jericho went to the window and looked down over the moon-  
dusted forests. "How he's going to keep up with all three of them is  
beyond me," he muttered darkly.  
"Then perhaps the strain will prove o'ermuch for him, and  
you'll have your other wish."  
Though she'd said it in the same soft tone she always used, he  
reacted as if slapped. He whirled to face her. "Is that what you think of  
me? That I'd cheer Gabriel's death and seize power for myself?"  
She regarded him evenly with her pale blue eyes. "The though  
occurred."  
He spun back to the window. "Right or wrong, he's the leader,"  
he said, mouthing the hollow words. "And my rookery brother."  
"Then why do you begrudge him the happiness of his mates?"  
"I don't." He was confused now, a usual state when talking to  
Elektra. Sometimes it was as if the Magus hadn't really gone away, just  
donned false wings and a girlish disguise so that he could continue to  
spout his nonsense. "I just don't think it will last. They'll start bickering,  
fighting over him. He won't be able to keep all three happy. You'll see."  
"Opal, Citrine, and Onyx have always been able to share," she  
pointed out. "The Magus did say it was as if they'd hatched from the  
same egg. They're inseperable and have ever been. It seems only  
reasonable to me that they would not want different mates."  
"It's supposed to be one male, one female."  
Elektra trailed her slim hand across the desk. "Such cannot  
always be," she said sadly. "Some hearts years for that which they  
cannot have, and seek solace in other things."  
"You mean Carnelian and his infatuation with the Lady of the  
Lake?" Jericho laughed, sharp and short. "He and Elswyth, a fine pair  
of dreamers! They'll go on chasing stardust and their own tails, and  
when all's said and done the immortals will laugh at them. They laugh at  
us already. The humans drove our kind from their rightful homes, the  
humans chased us from our very world, and now we must grovel and  
tug our forelocks before Oberon to even remain here!"  
"If Avalon so dissatisfies you, brother, why do you stay?"  
"Leave Avalon?" Sudden fear clutched his soul. "Where would  
I go?"  
Elektra moved to his side and gestured out the window. "The  
wide world beckons. Angela told us of her travels and the gargoyles she  
did find in many lands. We did ourselves meet those two who brought  
their sacred plants to grow and thrive free of danger, proof of Angela's  
words. The magic of this place is strong, my brother. Mayhap it calls to  
you. Mayhap it has a mission for you. Where do you need to be,  
Jericho? Where will Avalon send you?"  
"I don't know," he said uncertainly. "Leave Avalon? Leave my  
home? I ... I must think on it."  
She inclined her head. "Of course."  
* *  
David Xanatos signed his name to the credit slip with a  
flourish, glanced up to give the waiter a grin, and faltered only  
momentarily as he saw his mother-in-law leaving the restaurant with  
none other than Dominique Destine.  
He opened his mouth to call Fox's attention to it, but she was  
engaged in listening to one of Alex's stories (something about a little  
boy, a time machine and a magic dinosaur) and wore one of the first  
real smiles he'd seen on her since this morning. He hated to rob her of  
her good mood.  
So he calmly returned pen and pad to the waiter, assured him  
once again that everything had been fabulous, and stirred the dregs of  
his coffee as he watched the two women vanish through the brass and  
glass doors.  
He had a feeling that life was about to get a lot more  
interesting.  
* *  
"Why should I do this for you?" Anastasia asked as they  
settled into the plush backseat of Dominique's favorite limo. "I owe you  
no favors."  
After giving instructions to the driver and raising the window  
to seal them into silence, Dominique smiled and played her trump card.  
"Because I know where the lady's veil grows."  
She had the distinct pleasure of seeing Anastasia's eyes fly  
wide open before slitting into avaricious glinting jewels. "Lady's veil!  
But how? It was all destroyed, centuries ago!"  
"Not so." Oh, she was enjoying this, having the almight and  
all-powerful Titania hanging on her every word. "There is a place, a  
secret place where it still blooms. I have been there. I have seen it with  
my own eyes, smelled its sweet perfume. The Inquisitors came to root it  
out and burn it and instead they were the ones left hacked and  
smoldering."  
Suspicion touched Anastasia's gaze now. "Why would you risk  
yourself to protect it? You cannot use it. Only my kind can draw upon  
its magic."  
Dominique shrugged. She was no longer feeling the chamagne,  
thanks to a combination of her swift metabolism and this new  
excitement. "The Inquisitors were my enemies too. They thought me a  
demon." She showed her teeth. "They weren't the first, or the last, but  
they were among the most resourceful. Besides, I knew of your people  
and I knew that someday the information might be of use to me."  
"That was so long ago. How can you be sure it still exists?"  
"You're right. This is the modern world, the age of growth,  
when humans spread like a pestilence upon the earth. They could have  
plowed the lady's veil under, blacktopped over it, put up a shopping  
mall."  
Anastasia winced.  
"But I know that is not the case," she continued.  
"Have you been there, have you seen it?" Anastasia pressed.  
"I have. It is not far."  
"Lady's veil," she sighed, gazing through the windows but  
surely seeing something other than the dingy crowded streets of  
Manhattan. "What I would do for that!"  
"So, do we have a deal?" Dominique extended her hand.  
"A deal." Anastasia shook it firmly.  
* *  
"The world feels strange tonight," Angela observed.  
"Aye. It puts me in mind of a night not so long distant, when  
we first met yer friend Griff." Hudson looked up at the sky, which was  
tinged a peculiar shade of emerald green over deep blue. "There be  
sorcery afoot."  
"Do you think it's the same thing?" Lexington wondered.  
"I would like to see Griff again," Goliath said, "but I sense  
only foreboding tonight."  
"Hey, come on, it's just an atmospheric inversion or  
something," Brooklyn said. "No need for everyone to get all gloom and  
doom."  
Hudson slowly and somberly shook his head. "Nay, lad. This  
be not the work o' nature."  
Elisa emerged onto the roof. "Hi, guys! What's up?"  
"Oh, they all think something bad's going to happen,"  
Brooklyn said. "Hudson's seeing omens again."  
"Dinna mock yer elders, laddie."  
Elisa went to Goliath. "What's wrong?"  
"I do not know," he rumbled. "A feeling, nothing more. But I  
think we should all patrol tonight, and be vigilant."  
"How's your mother, Elisa?" Angela asked.  
"Great! Dad and I took her out for brunch, Beth sent a singing  
telegram of all things, and then we went to dinner in the Labyrinth." She  
patted Goliath's arm. "I gave her that bracelet, like you said. She loves  
it! And for once she couldn't tell me I'd spent too much on it!"  
"Can't put a price tag on Viking plunder," Brooklyn said. He  
nudged Goliath with his tail. "Kissing up to the future in-laws?"  
Goliath mock-growled, then cast a teasing eye at his daughter  
before fixing Brooklyn with a stern glare. "You'd do well to think of  
such things yourself."  
Brooklyn flushed maroon. Angela smiled and twined her arm  
through his. She pressed a quick kiss on his ear. "Don't let him bully  
you. If he had his way, I'd view the whole clan as my parents, so he  
doesn't have a wing to glide on with this protective father act!"  
Everyone laughed, but it was oddly muffled, as if the  
strangeness of the night robbed their mirth of some of its strength.  
"How are the kids?" Broadway asked.  
"Cute," Elisa said. "Real cute. Almost too cute. Makes me  
have very un-Elisa-like thoughts. I was never much of a one for those  
old maternal urges, you know? But when Dee fell asleep on my lap, just  
a warm little fuzzy bundle that smelled like milk and baby powder ..."  
Hudson glanced knowingly at Goliath, and Elisa promptly shut  
up with a maroon flush of her own.  
"Come on, then," Goliath said, looking a bit embarrassed  
himself. "The night is short this time of year, so we'd best get started  
before we find it is dawn again already."  
"Why, Father!" Angela fluttered a hand in front of her mouth  
as if shocked. "Get started? In front of all of us?"  
"I thought we were going on patrol," Brooklyn added, leering.  
"Though this sounds like more fun!"  
"It sure would be great to have a rookery around again,"  
Lexington chimed in.  
Goliath roared and made a halfhearted lunge, which sent the  
others diving off the wall in twirling fits of laughter. Even Hudson,  
normally disapproving of such behavior, hid a smile as he trudged off  
after Bronx, who was prancing anxiously in front of the closed door  
between him and his food bowl.  
"Can't blame 'em for trying, I suppose," Elisa said. "My folks  
are just as bad, but they're still focused on the wedding thing. We really  
should set a date before Dad comes after you with a shotgun."  
"I thought your parents were not fully supportive of our  
marriage plans."  
"Well, it did take some getting used to." She chuckled. "Can  
you imagine the guest list? Mom would want to invite Fara Maku, and  
he'd want to bring Te'a ..."  
"Our friends from Japan ..."  
"MacBeth and King Arthur ..."  
"And of course your Aunt Agnes," he finished.  
* *  
"David?" Are you coming? Alex is waiting to be tucked in."  
"Hmm? Yes, in a minute."  
She approached and peered over his shoulder, out the window  
at the weird-tinted sky. Her hair crackled faintly, full of static electricity  
despite her expensive conditioner. She felt unsettled, ill at ease, as if  
she was having a mild case of PMS. "What's going on?"  
"The gargoyles think there's magic afoot, and I believe them."  
He sighed and absently slipped an arm around her waist. "I wish Owen  
were here."  
"You'd promised him the rest of the day off. He's where he  
should be, with Cordelia and the baby. The wards are in place, and if  
Titania does come back here, she'll regret it."  
"That's just it," he replied. "I don't think she is coming here,  
but I know she's up to something, and I don't like not knowing what it  
is."  
* *  
"All this, for a simple transport spell?" Titania said. She had  
abandoned her guise of Anastasia, confident that no prying eyes could  
penetrate the high-walled garden of Dominique's stately home.  
All about her, gargoyles loomed. In the variable light and  
flickering shadows of the blazing braziers, they seemed to move. Why,  
she wondered, would Demona surround herself with stone gargoyles?  
Mementos of her lost clan? Penance for her guilt at their destruction?  
Ah, but she sensed that now was not the time for in-depth  
psychoanalysis of her hostess. Even sweet, muddled old Sigmund  
would have had his hands full with Demona. A cigar is just a cigar, but  
what would be make of the bulbous, spiked mace that swayed from  
Demona's belt?  
"Some of us had to _learn_ our magic," Demona retorted,  
casting a handful of black sand into the leaping flames.  
The light flared bright yellow. She intoned some words in  
Latin, and the chalk lines she'd etched on the patio between the three  
braziers began to shimmer with faint purple light.  
The air felt heavy and leaden, pressing down on them. Even  
the trees seemed to droop dispiritedly under that unseen weight. No  
clouds gathered, but a haze of greenish mist seemed to lay over the city.  
Titania eyes the glowing triangle apprehensively. It neither  
looked nor felt like something meant to trap one of her race, but  
Demona had lived a long and crafty life and only a fool would trust her  
completely.  
Oh, but the lure of the lady's veil was too strong to deny! It had  
been centuries since she'd known its fragrance, felt the softness of its  
leaves upon her cheek.  
"It is ready," Demona said. She stepped into the triangle and  
glanced impatiently at Titania.  
With a shrug, Avalon's queen joined her. Demona raised her  
hands overhead, holding between them a slim twig of white willow. She  
spoke one final command, snapped the twig, and the purple lines grew  
blindingly bright before rapidly shrinking into an amethyst starburst.  
When the starburst was gone, no eyes except the stone eyes of  
the gargoyles looked upon the empty patio and the darkened braziers.  
* *  
It was a side of Owen Burnett that few people ever saw, and  
Aiden Ferguson still wasn't used to it even though it was all her fault.  
A year ago, toying with a magic wand, she'd put a spell of love  
on Owen and her schoolmistress. She had been much more careful with  
her studies and her magic since then, to atone for her carelessness, but  
she still felt responsible. Her actions hadn't gone without repurcussions.  
Far from it, she thought as she peeped into the parlor and saw  
Owen, lying on his back on the rug, holding his infant daughter Patricia  
in the air.  
Patricia, a platinum-haired cherub with bright and dancing  
eyes, cooed and gurgled and smiled down at her father. Looking at the  
baby made Aiden feel even weirder, because yet another magical  
mishap had given her a look at a possible future in which Patricia would  
grow up to marry Alexander Xanatos, and their daughter would prove  
to be even more darkly ambitious than Alexander's own father.  
"Is there something we can help you with, Miss Ferguson?"  
Cordelia St. John asked coolly, glancing up from where she sat on the  
sofa.  
Even after a year as a student of the Sterling Academy, it only  
took one word or a single look from her to reduce Aiden to a nervous  
fourth-grader. She _knew_ that Owen had long since explained her  
unusual course of study at Castle Wyvern, _knew_ she hadn't done  
anything wrong, but still her stomach rolled itself into a tight ball of  
anxiety.  
"Thank you, ma'am ... um, but ... I hate to intrude, but I was  
wondering if I could talk to Owen ... just for a minute?"  
Owen rolled onto his elbow, setting Patricia on the rug next to  
him, where she promptly grabbed his tie and crammed it into her pink  
rosebud mouth. "Is something the matter, Aiden?"  
She twisted fitfully at a lock of her own beige hair. "Do you  
remember asking me to raise warning wards over the school and the  
grounds?"  
"Yes. To test your ability at maintaining them over a large area  
and for a considerable time."  
"Well ... um ... they just went down."  
Owen gently extracted the considerably dampened end of his  
tie from Patricia's mouth. He glanced at Cordelia. "You might want to  
give your uncle a call," he suggested. "It may be nothing, but caution is  
ever called for."  
Aiden groaned inwardly. Now she wasn't just barging in on  
Owen's rare family time, but she was also going to get the Illuminati all  
worked up. All because she hadn't taken her roommate Birdie's advice  
and gone quietly to check it out herself. It would turn out to be nothing,  
of course, Owen would be right about that, and then she'd look like a  
skittish little girl.  
Cordelia nodded, gathered the baby into her arms, swept  
Aiden with a wordless gaze that managed to convey a whole spectrum  
of disdain and irritation while still remaining chillingly polite, and left  
the room. Owen donned his suit jacket, straightened his hair, and saw  
the miserable look on Aiden's face.  
"What is it?"  
"She doesn't like me."  
Owen smiled slightly. "Pay it no mind."  
Which, Aiden thought glumly as she followed him outside,  
wasn't anywhere close to a denial.  
* *  
The purple light winked out and Titania inhaled deeply. "What  
place is this, where the air is so clean and the night so fair? It almost  
puts me in mind of Avalon!"  
"Upstate New York," Demona murmured distractedly. "The  
Sterling Academy."  
"Really?" Titania perked up even more. "I taught a course in  
advanced chemistry here once, oh, forty years ago. This was where I  
met Halcyon Renard." She looked around approvingly. "They've kept it  
up nicely."  
"We're not here to admire the landscaping. Something's not  
right. I felt something as we came in. Wards, maybe. We'd better be  
quick." Demona dropped into a tense, alert crouch. "This way."  
The campus lay slumbering although it was still fairly early. A  
few lights gleamed behind the shutters of the dorms, and here and there  
was the irregular bluish flicker of a television. Moths ticked against the  
soft moon globes that shed their light on the walkways, but nary a  
student was to be seen.  
To the east was a bulking, hulking mass of dark stone, an  
unkempt manor falling slowly into decay, or so it appeared. Demona  
knew better. Inside would be found levels of luxury, comfort, and  
technology decades ahead of the rest of the country.  
The Illuminati liked to conduct themselves in style.  
Had they erected the wards? She doubted it. They were men of  
knowledge and secrecy, but their power came from old rituals and  
musty artifacts that they hardly dared use. What she had sensed felt  
young, fresh.  
No time to worry about it. If there existed a threat that Demona  
herself couldn't handle, surely her companion could. Until Titania had  
her dainty mitts on the lady's veil, she would surely do all in her power  
to preserve their freedom.  
On the north side of the campus, the well-tended grounds gave  
way to a more natural sprawling of woods, still within the fenced  
boundaries of the Academy. Demona slipped wraithlike between the  
trees, moving fast, enjoying the race, the hunt. Titania came after,  
seeming to drift, never getting her hair entangled in a bough or  
muddying her feet on the creekbanks.  
"It is near!" Titania breathed excitedly.  
"Here." Demona stopped.  
There before them was a gentle hollow, where a shimmering  
rill trickled over moss-clothed rocks and pooled mirrorlike in a frame  
made of the ancient and gnarled exposed roots of an oak. From the  
middle of the pool rose a small hillock, tufted with velvety grass. And  
from the middle of the hillock rose a thin, graceful plant, with stalks of  
milky green and flowers of pure translucent white. The petals were long  
and flowing, like a veil; hence its name. At the center of each bloom  
was a cluster of tiny golden nubs.  
"Ohhh," Titania sighed, pressing her hands to her lips. "So  
beautiful!"  
"Now your part of the bargain," Demona said. "I've fulfilled  
mine."  
Like someone in a dream, Titania produced a slender silver  
bracelet from somewhere in the folds of her garments. Runes were  
inlaid around it, shining in the moonlight with eldritch fire. "Wear this,  
and recite the inscription, and any body of water will be your portal to  
Avalon."  
Demona studied it, memorized it, and slipped the bracelet over  
her claws and onto her left wrist.  
"Titania! Demona!"  
Of all the people who could have come crashing through the  
bushes at that point, Owen Burnett was one of the last ones she would  
have expected.  
There was a human with him, a pale and frightened girl that  
Demona would have dismissed if not for the wand clutched in one small  
hand. To her sharpened senses, it was the magical equivalent of a  
trumpet fanfare.  
Owen moved forward, his fists clenched, and then his gaze fell  
past Titania and his mouth fell open. "The lady's veil?"  
"No you don't," Titania chided. She struck swiftly, pulling the  
plant up by the roots. A faint trill of pain rang briefly through the night.  
"This posey is mine!" A green glow wavered into being around her.  
"No!" Owen jumped at her, pased through her as she vanished,  
and brought himself neatly into Demona's reach.  
Her claws clamped around his throat. She could feel his fragile  
human lifebeat pumping beneath her palms, and traced the ridge of  
bone that was his spine. She debated briefly between snapping and  
squeezing.  
"Let go of him!" the human girl cried, brandishing the wand.  
That fanfare sounded in Demona's mind again. She recognized  
the item, Hecate's Wand, long thought lost. Here was the caster of the  
wards, young, but formidably armed.  
She froze, neither killing nor releasing Xanatos' dogsbody  
servant. Eyeing the wand, she felt much as Titania must have when the  
lady's veil was mentioned. Hecate's Wand could only be great in the  
hands of a human sorceress, but thanks to Puck, half the time she was  
one.  
"Give me the wand, and I'll free him."  
"No, Demona," the girl said, and then Demona recognized her  
as well. She was the tiny human that had come a'caroling last  
Christmas. A friend of the gargoyles. A friend of Angela.  
Killing Owen was one thing. He'd been a thorn in her side time  
and again, he and Xanatos. There had always been something  
exasperatingly sneaky about him, something she could never quite put a  
talon on. But she dared not kill this frail girl, not if there was still a  
chance to win Angela over.  
She made her decision half an instant before Owen made his  
move. Even as he flexed to attack, she hurled him away from her. He  
reeled back the way he had come and the girl was not quick enough to  
sidestep.  
Before either of them could get up, Demona recited the  
incantation and dove headlong into the shallow pool. If Titania had  
tricked her, she would finish this night with a hell of a headache and a  
faceful of mud.  
A silver ripple expanded from the point where her left arm met  
the water, and she passed through into another world.  
* *  
Owen brushed himself off, his lips tight in a pucker of disgust.  
"She's gone to Avalon."  
"I'm sorry!" Aiden gasped. "I didn't know what to do!"  
"The fault is partly mine. I've taught you no spells of attack.  
There was no way you could have stopped her."  
She fingered the wand absently, before remembering that it  
made him almighty nervous when she did that. Hastily, she put it back  
in its case. "Do ... do we go after her?"  
Owen sighed. "Avalon is forbidden me. The incantation  
Demona used was a shortcut, linked to an item. A gift, no doubt, from  
Titania. Therefore it is of no use to us."  
"How did Goliath and Elisa get there? Doesn't he know a  
spell?"  
"He does, but even so, we dare not follow. Whatever is going  
on, it involves an alliance between Demona and Titania. You are not  
ready to face either of them, let alone both. And Oberon would not  
allow Hecate's Wand to return to Avalon. He thinks it long-destroyed."  
It was Aiden's turn to sigh. "But we should do something,  
shouldn't we?"  
"All we can do is inform and warn Mr. Xanatos and Goliath.  
And Fox. Fox especially, now that Titania has the lady's veil." He shook  
his head and laughed ruefully. "Here all this time, and I never knew."  
"The flower? What is it? My mom kept a garden, but I've  
never seen anything like that before."  
"Nor, in likelihood, will you again. That was the lady's veil,  
most precious of all growing things. To Avalon's Children, it is both  
energy source and drug, ambrosia, giver of power." He took a deep,  
wistful breath, then blinked and recovered himself.  
"Kind of like catnip?" Aiden asked doubtfully.  
"That will do. I had thought that there was no more. It was  
once plentiful. Humans --" he glanced over his shoulder toward the  
distant gabeled roof of the abandoned manor "-- an offshoot of an old,  
old society, sought it out and burned it. All of it, or so we'd thought."  
"But why?"  
"They knew of us, they feared us. They knew also of Oberon's  
decree that we be exiled upon the world. They worried that, had we the  
lady's veil, we might become a power to rival theirs. And so they got rid  
of it."  
Aiden frowned. "That doesn't make sense. From everything  
you've told me, Oberon's Children don't work together. It doesn't seem  
like they _would_ organize to seize power, even if they could."  
"You're right, of course. But these humans, these Inquisitors,  
did not see it that way."  
"Why do we need to warn Fox, though?"  
"She has the blood of Avalon in her veins. Titania may try to  
use the lady's veil to make her daughter beholden to her. Fox rejected  
her harshly this morning, and Titania does not take rejection well."  
* *  
Jericho sat on a rock outcropping, sharpening his knife in long  
slow strokes as he looked down at the gathered clan below.  
The remains of a respectable feast were spread out around  
them. Malachi and Uriel had taken time out from breeding to hunt down  
two fat hinds, and their mates Ruth and Miriam had spent the night  
coaxing breads and pastries from Avalon's generous magical larders.  
The clan was mostly arranged in mated pairs, with some  
exceptions. Hippolyta sat apart, fussing with her bow. Three were  
absent: Elektra still brooding in her solitary tower and Carnelian and  
Elswyth off making sheep's eyes at their fay fancies. A few other  
mateless males lingered at the fringes of the circle, some still foolishly  
and hopelessly trying to change Hippolyta's mind.  
And of course, leader Gabriel, a sultan, surrounded by his  
harem.  
His three mates were nearly identical in their beauty. They  
differed only in the colors of their hair, and it was that which had  
earned them their names. Opal's tresses were silver blond, Citrine's as  
yellow as the sun they never saw, and Onyx's as dark as the gem by that  
name.  
Jericho fumed silently. Only Tourmaline noticed him, and  
offered a faint smile. He ignored it, and saw it turn into a glower before  
she returned her attention to Jacob. Jacob, smallest and quickest of the  
clan, pale tan with wings that stretched from wrist to ankle, was only  
too glad to accept her attention.  
The feasting was done. Deborah began to sing softly, and soon  
Garnet and Ezekial joined in. Ruth and Malachi left hand in hand with  
tails entwined.  
Jericho jabbed his knife idly into a loaf of bread, again and  
again.  
"What's the matter, brother?" Corwin asked. "You've been  
some quiet of late. Are you troubled?"  
"Indeed, brother. Look at this clan. We've grown fat and soft."  
"Nay, that will be the fate of the females, as they grow big with  
egg," he grinned.  
"No egg of yours, nor mine," Jericho meanly but truthfully  
pointed out. Handsome Corwin, despite a strong resemblance to  
Gabriel, was also among the mateless.  
"'Tis for us to be the best warriors," Corwin said. "Do you not  
remember what the Magus told us of our clan, in the days of Castle  
Wyvern? How the leader before Goliath took no mate, but was a  
warrior without compare and leader for many decades? That is the fate  
that awaits us, my brother, a good destiny if ever there was one."  
"Warriors," Jericho snorted. "Once in all our lives have we  
been called upon to be warriors, when the Archmage attacked us. A  
poor showing we made! It was only blind luck that none died!"  
"I charge any warrior to do better against a wizard!" Corwin  
argued. "Had we but fought Vikings, as our parents before us --"  
"Bah! You're grasping at excuses, Corwin. We failed.  
Guardian Tom had to go find Goliath to pull our bacon from the flames.  
We would have otherwise been killed, one and all."  
"Goliath is the greatest warrior of our kind! There is no shame  
in seeking his help!"  
"Shame? Aye, shame indeed! What must he have thought of  
us, his clan's children, unable to hold off even one attack without  
sending our human Guardian to beg for his aid! Small wonder he did  
not wish to remain, to bring his clan back to rejoin us. He was right glad  
to leave us behind!"  
"Not so! He welcomed Angela to join him."  
Jericho snorted again. "Think it through, brother dear. The  
Magus enspelled Goliath, the leader before him, three young warriors,  
and their watchdog. Males all! Of course he was pleased to take Angela  
along!"  
"I disagree with you," Corwin said, but he said it thoughtfully  
and Jericho knew his words had hit the mark a time or two.  
"What good is it to be a warrior, with no battles to fight?"  
Jericho wiped crumbs from his knife and replaced it in its sheath. "We  
have no purpose."  
"We protect our home and clan." Corwin gestured to the  
others.  
"From what? Any threat to this island will be swiftly sundered  
by Oberon and his defenses. We are not needed here. Nor wanted here.  
He suffers our presence, and do you know why, brother? Because  
Goliath forced his hand. If not for Goliath, we would have been cast  
out. So, he saves us from the Archmage, he saves us from Oberon's  
wrath, all because we can do nothing for ourselves!"  
"My heart says you are wrong, brother," Corwin said slowly,  
"but my mind cannot fashion a goodly debate."  
"That's because the heart is more easily misled." Jericho rose  
and stood braced with the wind in his hair. "Isn't that something else the  
Magus always said? I, brother, will follow my mind!" With that, he  
leaped from the outcropping and let the wind catch in his wings.  
* *  
Demona had emerged from a rippling stream-fed lake,  
untouched by the water thanks to the spell that had brought her to  
Avalon. At once, some dim memory had stirred in her. She knew that  
somehow she had been here before, during that curious blank period  
before Paris. She strove to recall more, but the best she could come up  
with was a ghost of a voice, Goliath's voice.  
"These are our clan's children," he'd said. And strangely,  
MacBeth had been nearby.  
She shook her head. It made no sense. Whenever she tried to  
remember those unsettlingly vague days, a sweeping tingle of fear  
overtook her and she was left with just the image of the moon, the silver  
moon with its darker mottlings that almost seemed to form the shape of  
a gargoyle.  
But, whatever had happened before, this was Avalon. She had  
followed distant firelight and the smell of roasting venison, and soon  
found the gathering place of the clan.  
She looked upon them from concealment. So many, so vibrant  
and healthy and happy! Owing their very lives to that snippet of a  
princess, the cause of all of the clan's misfortune! Had Katherine not  
dismissed them with scorn, as if they were even lower than the hogs in  
the castle's pen, Demona would never have been compelled to strike her  
bargain with the captain of the guard.  
She set aside her old anger and studied the young gargoyles.  
At the time their eggs had been laid, she would have never  
given another thought to their parentage. She and all of the other  
gargoyles would have taken equal care of and given equal attention to  
the hatchlings. But now, after centuries of seeing how humans were  
devoted to their offspring, and after seeing some of herself in Angela,  
she looked differently upon the children of her clan.  
Her rookery brothers and sisters had produced these young  
ones. She saw familiar features everywhere. That amber-haired male  
ringed with admiring females -- what would Coldstone think if  
presented with this son of his? She strove to recall how many eggs he  
and his mate had laid, and thought it was three.  
Other old friends, centuries dead and dust, seemed to come  
vividly alive to her as she looked upon their children. She looked,  
seeking, scanning, and then her breath caught in her throat.  
There on an outcropping was a familiar silhouette against the  
moon.  
A male very like in build to Goliath. He lacked some of the  
breadth of shoulder and depth of chest, but was tall and strong and had  
the same majestic wings.  
She crept closer, circling around until she could see him in the  
firelight.  
His skin was the same twilight blue as her own, his hair was  
thick and coarse and fell over his eye in a blood-red tumble, and his  
features were a masculine version of hers.  
"My son," she whispered into the night, and moved even  
closer.  
Another male joined him, golden-skinned, with unusual split  
wings the banded deep brown of a tiger's eye agate and ivory-white  
hair. Surely another hatchling of Coldstone and his mate. Demona  
keened her ears to hear. Soon she was close enough to make out their  
words.  
"What good is it to be a warrior, with no battles to fight? We  
have no purpose."  
Listening to the remainder of their discussion, Demona could  
have wept with the fierce savage joy that welled up in her soul. She  
heard the dissatisfaction in her son's voice, the bitter tone with which he  
spoke Goliath's name.  
When her son spread his wings and took to the air, it was all  
Demona could do from shrieking in triumph and pride.  
* *  
Oberon's Children were busy with their own plans, plans for a  
peculiar and amusing little party they planned to hold.  
They were busy also presenting the gifts with which they  
honored their Lord. He hadn't demanded gifts, no. But all knew that  
gifts were expected, and a way to earn the goodwill and favor of  
Oberon.  
Busy renewing age-old acquaintances, reminiscing, scheming  
against each other. Some were busy having fun, others were busy  
griping (as Puck would have, had he been in attendance) how dreadfully  
dull Avalon was compared to the unpredictable humor to be found  
among mortals.  
So, in all the general business, few noticed the absence of  
Queen Titania. As Oberon himself had declared in the presence of all,  
she came and went as she pleased. It did not concern him. He'd been  
occupied with other things. Casting out an incubus, for instance, or  
enduring ceaseless pleas from the sea witch Sycorax to free her half-  
mortal son from his imprisonment.  
"Our Queen does come and go these days," Phoebe observed  
to her sisters as they lounged in the marble-columned enclosure that had  
once been the domain of the Archmage.  
"With one of our chosen she deals and plays," Selene added,  
frowning darkly.  
"Unless our edicts Demona disobeys," Luna said, "no harm in  
her visit here, and no reason have we Titania to fear. Other news  
troubles me now, the Archmage's curse --"  
"What? No! How?!" the other two broke in, alarmed and even  
more pale.  
Luna dipped a finger in the still pool. It rippled and an image  
appeared, of gargoyles lazing in a woodland glen. "Look and behold, as  
was foretold."  
Her sisters studied the scene in silence, and then Phoebe  
passed her hand across the water and disrupted it.When the water  
cleared there was naught to be seen save their nearly identical  
reflections.  
"The curse did not die with his life's end," Luna said. "Beyond  
our powers all, to mend."  
"Gargoyles three, alike as we," Selene mused.  
"Humans as well, I have seen when in the mortal world I've  
been," Phoebe said reluctantly.  
They looked solemnly at each other for a long, long time.  
* *  
Dawn came to Avalon with a diffuse, milky light.  
Dominique, tired after the long night, ate well of sweet fruit  
and drank deeply of clear water. She never strayed too far from the spot  
where a single male gargoyle stood in stone sleep, because she had the  
feeling that Avalon would shift about just on a whim and she might  
wind up getting lost.  
She used the daylight to study her son. Cast in stone, he looked  
more like Goliath, but she could still see her genetic heritage. Goliath's  
jaw was a stubborn square block; her son's was sharper. He had her  
nose instead of the sizeable chiseled ship's prow in the middle of  
Goliath's face. He even had her brow ridges.  
Very pleased, she gathered herself a pile of soft leaves and  
grasses and settled down to snooze the day away. Just as she was about  
to drift off, she realized that Princess Katherine was somewhere  
hereabouts, as well as that annoying whelp of a human lad, Tom.  
But, frustratingly, the same logic that had spared Owen's little  
sorceress sidekick also applied to Katherine. Angela spoke fondly of  
the human woman, who had been more of a mother to her than Demona  
ever could be. Most likely, her son would have at least some of the  
same feelings.  
So, much as she might have otherwise liked to gouge holes in  
Katherine's soft white skin and pull out her innards, she accepted that it  
might be a bad way to start off her relationship with her newfound son.  
She slept, and dreamed old dreams of her long-dead clan,  
bittersweet now that she had seen their children.  
* *  
"I don't like this," Xanatos said. "There's nothing we can do?"  
Owen shook his head. "Short of going to Avalon. Some  
consolation, though -- Titania is unlikely to make her move quickly.  
She may take time to form a plan, and a few days on Avalon can  
amount to many months here."  
"Which means we'll have to be on our guard forever," Xanatos  
said sourly.  
"She also knows that I know what she has done," Owen  
pointed out. "She must realize that I would warn you. She may not try  
anything at all."  
"Somehow, nice as that thought is, I just can't believe she'd let  
it go." Xanatos sighed. "Don't I have enough to worry about with just  
one dimension?"  
"Normally, yes. However, sir, your unusual lifestyle has its  
price."  
"Yeah. Tell me about it."  
* *  
Jericho awoke to an agonized cry.  
He shook off the lingering shards of his stone skin and leaped  
forward, to the side of the hunched figure.  
He reached, he faltered. "What --?"  
The figure stood and looked at him. A gargoyle, a female. A  
stranger, yet somehow familiar. And then he had it.  
"You look like ... me?" he said.  
She smiled and tears glimmered unshed. "I am your mother."  
Jericho staggered back and put a hand to his brow. "Mother?"  
His gaze fell upon the grass where she stood and he saw that something  
was wrong, but he couldn't quite bring his thoughts together.  
"My son!" She held out her arms.  
He looked at her, at the love shining from her face with the  
imagined brightness of the sun. The rightness of it rang in him like a  
deep bell. A need he'd never even suspected washed over him in a  
flood. He ignored the darkness in her eyes and gladly accepted her  
embrace.  
"Mother!"  
She cradled him as if he was a tiny hatchling, and finally they  
stepped apart. She touched his face, traced his brow ridges. "Such a  
handsome lad," she said approvingly.  
"How can this be?" he asked. "How did you come to be here? I  
thought our clan was destroyed, all save a few males!" Something else  
occurred to him and he frowned. "Wait ... when the Archmage attacked,  
he brought two great warriors. I saw only one of them, a silver-haired  
human." He rubbed his jaw in remembered pain, and saw his mother's  
eyes flare dangerously.  
"Did he hurt you? That insolent fool MacBeth! When I see  
him again, I'll --"  
He hastened to calm her, even as he was trying to get over his  
surprise at seeing his own lightning-quick temper mirrored in her. "A  
glancing blow, and I am unharmed. But my brothers and sisters saw the  
other, and they said it was one of our kind, with hair of red like yours!"  
"I am not your enemy," she said firmly. "If I have been here  
before, believe me, I was under a spell and not acting of my own  
choosing. I would never want to hurt you, or your brothers and sisters."  
"I do believe you. I just don't understand." He looked at the  
grass again and realized what had puzzled him before. There were no  
stone fragments where she'd been standing. The ground around his feet  
had been littered with them, as usual, but he could not spot a single one  
in all the grassy glade.  
"I will explain everything ... " she paused and laughed. "What  
are you called, my son? I know the princess gave names to you all."  
"Jericho," he said.  
"Jericho." She sampled it, then nodded. "I like the sound of  
that. I am called Demona." She extended her hand. "Come, my son. I  
will tell you my story. I will tell you everything. Even ..." she drew in a  
deep breath and let it go. "Even about your father."  
Here was another all new subject. Jericho blinked. "My  
father?"  
"Your father." She had trouble meeting his eyes, then found  
the strength. "Goliath."  
"Is this a jest?" he cried.  
"No." She squeezed his hand. "I was once his second-in-  
command and his mate. Mine is a long story, but I escaped the  
destruction of our clan and spent long centuries alone, seeking,  
desperate. When at last we were reunited ..." she looked away, unable  
to go on.  
"What?" he urged.  
"He turned me away," she admitted heavily. "He refused to  
welcome me back to the clan. He said I had grown too hard and cruel.  
Maybe he was right."  
Jericho was shaking his head slowly. "No. I cannot believe  
that."  
She gripped his hand bruisingly tight. "He _was_ right. But I  
had to become hard and cruel if I was going to survive! Goliath never  
understood that, never believed that being _too_ trusting was even more  
dangerous!"  
"I have met him," Jericho said. "But ... why did he not tell me  
he was my father?"  
Demona shrugged and looked away, distressed. "I ... I don't  
know."  
"Please, tell me! Mother, please!"  
"Well ..."  
"He's ashamed of us, isn't he?" Jericho said bitterly. "Because  
we're such poor warriors."  
She didn't answer but he saw the truth of it in her eyes. His lip  
curled in a snarl.  
"Now, wait," Demona said hastily. "You must understand, that  
is his way, to judge others without knowing or caring what their lives  
have been like. He cared not that I had spent a milennium being hunted  
and hated by the humans, but just blamed me for not trusting them as he  
does. He certainly should not blame you for something that is not your  
fault. It's his fault, if anyone's, for he gave our eggs into the keeping of  
the princess and abandoned you."  
"Why did you let him?"  
"I did not learn of it until it was too late. I am sorry." She hung  
her head.  
Jericho sank to his knees and put his arms around her waist. "I  
know you would have taken care of us if you could," he said fervently.  
"You would have given us a home that was our own, a purpose! You  
would have raised us as warriors!"  
She stroked his hair. "I would have raised you as warriors, yes.  
And I would have led you against the Vikings for revenge, and put you  
in danger. Even led you to your deaths. You've been safe here."  
"Safe, soft, and useless!" He clung to her velvety wings and  
looked up at her. "I'm not afraid of death, Mother, but I want to live  
first! Live as a gargoyle, to protect and avenge and to _be_ a warrior!  
Oberon calls us nothing more than decorative stonework, and I want  
more than that!"  
"What of your brothers and sisters?"  
"They are content to sit about. I am not. I've never been. Of  
them all, only one came close to understanding, and she's already gone  
to the real world to find her place in it."  
"Angela."  
"Yes! She left with Goliath. How did you know?"  
"I know, because she is my daughter. Your sister, not just your  
rookery sister but your sister in birth and blood." She turned her head  
away. "But she sees things as Goliath does. She cares more for the  
humans than for her own kind. Goliath tried to keep her from even  
knowing about me, and then to poison her against me! When I learned  
of Avalon, I knew I had to find a way here, to see my other child, and  
hope that you might not come to hate me too."  
"Never!"  
"You're all I have left, Jericho. I've lost my clan, my daughter,  
everything. Yes, I've done terrible things against the humans. No  
terrible than what they've done to our kind, but terrible nonetheless. I  
tell you this because I want you to know the truth."  
"You've done only what you had to do. I can see that! And  
been ill-used by humans and your own clan alike! I won't do that,  
Mother! All my life, I've wanted something more, some purpose, and  
you've brought me new hope! Take me with you!"  
She gasped. "You cannot mean that!"  
"I can and I do!" He clutched her hands and pleaded. "Teach  
me to be a warrior! Give me a cause to fight for! We will be our own  
clan, a clan of two, mother and son against the world if need be!"  
"Goliath would never allow it. He seeks to deny me --"  
"To the Dragon with Goliath and what he will and won't allow!  
Maybe he clouded Angela's mind, but not mine!"  
Demona embraced him again, and her tears wet his shoulder.  
"My son! I will take you with me, because you are all that I hoped you  
would be!"  
* *  
"This be dire news indeed," Hudson said, at the end of the  
lengthy silence which followed Owen's story.  
Angela wrung her hands. "She _wouldn't_ do anything bad!  
Would she?"  
Brooklyn, whose forgiveness of Demona was still fairly new  
and shaky, glowered but said nothing.  
"Why would she go to Avalon anyway?" Broadway asked.  
"Didn't she make enemies last time she was there?"  
"She was enspelled," Goliath said. "As was MacBeth, and he  
has no memories of Avalon except images that might have been nothing  
more than a dream." He doubled his fists and then saw his daughter  
looking at him with worry and heartbreak all over her face. He forced  
his fingers to unclench.  
"Whatever she's up to, it's got to be no good," Lexington said.  
"You don't know that!" Angela flared. "Maybe she's sorry! No  
one in this clan will give her a second chance --"  
"_Second_ chance?" Brooklyn blurted, then bit his lip.  
But Hudson nodded at his outburst. "Aye, the lad is right.  
She's had chances aplenty to mend her ways, and little to show for it."  
"Maybe we should just go and take a look," Broadway  
suggested. "To make sure everything's all right."  
"No," Goliath said heavily. "We will not go to Avalon."  
"What? Why?" Brooklyn's beak got away from him again, the  
words coming out sounding like a direct assault on Goliath's authority.  
He ignored the tone and replied. "If we go, if any of us go,  
Demona will see it as an attack. We cannot know that her purpose there  
is malign; Angela is right. But if a battle breaks out, the Avalon clan  
will be drawn into it, putting innocent gargoyles at risk. They are my  
first concern."  
"If they're your first concern, though," Broadway said slowly,  
"then shouldn't we be trying to protect them from Demona?"  
"Demona has no quarrel with them." Goliath strode to the  
window and looked out, as if he could see Avalon from the windows of  
Castle Wyvern.  
"But they might with her," Angela reluctantly said. "They'll  
remember her other visit, even if she does not. They might attack her  
first."  
"What about Oberon?" Lexington piped up.  
"That is my other concern," Goliath said. "Oberon would not  
tolerate further disruption of his island. He may drive the clan from  
their home, or his punishment might be more dire. I do not want to  
chance angering him."  
"Demona and Titania were together," Owen reminded them.  
"Whatever Demona's purpose, it might be part of some plan of Titania's  
and not even involve the gargoyles."  
"I wish I could believe that," Goliath said. He growled/sighed.  
"No. We will not go after her, but we will be ready in case we are  
summoned."  
Angela walked away with her arms wrapped around herself,  
clearly torn between worry for her siblings and her mother. Brooklyn  
muttered darkly but followed her.  
"If Oberon throws them out," Broadway wondered, "will they  
come here?"  
"They'll be welcome, I'm sure," Hudson replied. "Ah, would  
that not be fine, to have the castle filled again? And a breeding season,  
too, so Goliath told us. I'd thought I would not live to see a thriving  
rookery again."  
Owen glanced at him under arched brows. "I cannot predict  
what Mr. Xanatos' response to that idea might be."  
Hudson grinned and patted the hilt of his sword. "He can take  
it up with me, then, should it come to pass!"  
"I'm going to call Aiden," Lex announced. "She must've been  
scared stiff, going up against Demona like that!" He bounded off  
toward the phone.  
Goliath turned to Owen. "You will keep us informed," he said.  
Owen inclined his head. "Of course."  
* *  
Days passed, and then weeks.  
"Look, Owen!" Fox snapped one afternoon, "I appreciate your  
concern, but if you don't quit hovering around me, I'm going to have to  
either hit you or sleep with you!"  
One month slowly turned into two months.  
"Nightstone is still operating without Dominique Destine,"  
Matt Bluestone reported. "The vice-presidents are finally getting a  
chance to do things their way without the dragon lady breathing down  
their necks, and they're getting to like it."  
At the end of the second month, after much discussion, Goliath  
and Elisa formally set the wedding date for October 31, Halloween, in  
honor of their first dance. Two weeks after that, Elisa got a call from  
her sister Beth in Arizona.  
"I need some advice," Beth said over hundreds of miles of  
long-distance. "I'm kind of seeing somebody."  
"That's great!" Elisa responded enthusiastically.  
"Well," Beth wavered, "I'm worried Dad won't approve."  
Elisa laughed. "Sis, I'm marrying a gargoyle and Derrek's kids  
have fur! Who could you possibly be going out with that Dad wouldn't  
like?"  
Beth told her.  
"Oh," Elisa said through numb and shocked lips. "Oh, I see  
what you mean!"  
Summer came to New York. Hudson, at least, was glad of the  
extra hours of sunbaked warmth on his old bones, even if the others  
bemoaned the shortness of the night.  
"Will it never end?" Angela wailed. "Will we never know?"  
Goliath consolingly rubbed his knuckles against her brow  
ridges. "Sometimes there is no clear ending. We must wait, and watch,  
and see what will come to pass."  
And the time went on ...  
  
* *   
"My lord, if I may take a moment of the Gathering's time?"  
Oberon at once raised a hand for silence. "Attend our Queen,  
by Oberon's command!"  
Titania made a gracious gesture of thanks. "My lord and  
husband, I have seen many grand gifts given by Avalon's returning  
children. I would not seem remiss in my own devotion."  
He smiled. "Why, Titania, you need not bring us any further  
gift, when already you've once more afforded us your love."  
"Even so, my lord, I have a small trifle, if you will aceept it.  
Nothing so fine and bejeweled as many of these splendors, yet it may  
please your fancy."  
Oberon leaned forward, intrigued and anticipatory. The  
gathered children shuffled for positions and vantage points.  
Titania swept a graceful curtsey. "Here, Lord Oberon, is the  
gift with which I honor thee." She held out her hand, palm up, and  
uncurled her long slender fingers.  
Bright and airy though the Grand Hall of Oberon was, the  
shine from the white petals was the clearest light in the room.  
"A trifle indeed," Oberon gasped breathlessly. "To please our  
fancy? Titania ..."  
She demurred sweetly. "Say no more, my lord. Accept this gift  
of me, and bear me only goodwill in return." Stepping forward, she  
placed the flower in his eager outstretched hand.  
An envious, hungry sigh went up from the assemblage.  
Although Titania kept her gaze fixed on Oberon, she sensed still the  
furtive gleam that came into many an eye. Plots were being formed,  
schemings were underway.  
Oberon had been getting bored, starting to think of other  
things, starting to look beyond his own self-absorbed ego. The lady's  
veil would change much of that, and the plots and schemings would  
occupy the rest of his attention.  
And Titania would continue to rule Avalon her way.  
* *  
"He's gone," Elektra said softly.  
"What do you mean, gone?" Gabriel nearly took his slim sister  
by the shoulders and shook her, but restrained himself. "When? Where?  
Most importantly, why?"  
"I could answer your questions, brother, but it would change  
nothing. You never saw him as he truly is."  
"What?" He blinked at her.  
She sighed restlessly. "Envious of you, close to no one, always  
a shadow on his spirit that urged him toward a destiny he did not  
understand. Nor do I, but I've at least an inlking of it. He has chosen to  
follow another path, although I fear it will be his undoing."  
"If all this is because he didn't get a mate, or if he was still sore  
because Tourmaline tried to win him when she couldn't get me --"  
"No, no. Not that. If he truly wanted a mate, he would have  
had one." She dropped her eyes, long lashes brushing against her ivory-  
pale cheeks, and Gabriel looked at her with sudden comprehension.  
He put a hand on her wing-caped shoulder. "And you just let  
him go? You said nothing?"  
She nodded mutely.  
"If he regrets nothing else, my sister, I know he will live to  
regret that."  
* *  
He turned slowly in a circle, his face alight with awe. "This is  
your home?"  
Demona smiled. "It serves my needs."  
"It is the most splendid place I've ever seen! We've nothing  
like this on Avalon! Not even Oberon's palace holds such wonders!  
How is it that you have such magic?"  
"Not magic, my son. These things are the work of science, and  
human inventors. They are not all entirely without merit, I give them  
credit for that at least."  
Jericho leaned close to the blank television screen. "What is  
this, a window of darkness?"  
"Hardly." She triggered the remote control and smothered a  
laugh as her son sprang back in alarm at the sudden light and color and  
sound. "A window to many places, some real, and some imaginary."  
Her thoughts flashed back several years to something she'd overheard  
while lurking in a secret passage outside of Xanatos' office. "Think of it  
as a ... living tapestry."  
He roamed around the room. "I feel so primitive," he finally  
said. "A barbarian amid all of these marvels."  
Demona shook her head. "Not for long. Those days on Avalon,  
I told you all about the past. Now, your education on the present and  
future begins. I will teach you to understand and use everything you'll  
find in this world. A warrior in this era must be able to do more than  
swing a sword. And you, Jericho, will be a great warrior."  
He drew himself straight and tall. The new garments she'd  
given him, made of metal like the armor that Guardian Tom wore but  
lighter and stronger, gleamed glossy black and shining silver. "I will not  
fail you, Mother."  
* *  
The End 


End file.
